Page 82 of Love Me Tomorrow

“I’ll sweep,” I grunt, unable to meet her stare while long-ago embarrassment floods my system, “if you don’t mind picking up, up front here.”

When I turn on my heel, it’s only to have her fingers wrap around my elbow. Myleftelbow. It never healed correctly. On bad days, I can’t get my arm to extend fully. On good days, there’s only a twinge of pain.

My feet remain locked in place.

“What’s wrong?” Savannah’s fingers trail up, up, up until they’re cupping my shoulder as she steps around me, blocking my escape. “You were with me and now you’re where?”

No bullshit.

I established that aspect of our relationship weeks ago. Easier said than done when we’re talking about her and not me.Hypocrite.Yeah, I’m no saint. Never have been, especially during my early twenties.

“Owen,” she pushes gently, “talk to me.”

I open my mouth, tongue feeling thick and swollen. “You read the article, didn’t you.” Not a question. “It’s why you showed up here.”

Her chin dips in a shallow nod. “Celebrity Tea Presentspicked up an article fromThe New Orleans Daily. They . . . Well, they threw a lot of accusations around. About us seeing each other after filming wrapped up on the show, and even before then.” Lips firming, she hastily adds, “Everyone’s calling, wanting to know about our relationship.People. Entertainment Weekly.Jimmy Fallon. I was worried that you might have been stampeded.”

“One of the girls earlier”—shit, this is hard—“she left the impression that everyone knows now . . . about me. Jail.” I grit my teeth, then rip off the proverbial bandage. “About the fact I was an idiot and got myself hospitalized.”

Savannah swallows, her fingers coiling tightly in my shirt. “Were you jumping into the fight? Trying to help someone who was in trouble?”

A caustic laugh rattles in my chest. That would have been preferable.Good guy Owen Harvey rushes in to save the day.For a second, I let myself imagine those headlines hitting the news outlets. Fiction is always better than cold, hard reality. “Nah,” I mutter, staring down at the way her hand is gripping my shirt, like she’s desperate to reconcile who I was then and who I am now.I’ve been trying to do the same damn thing for years, sweetheart.I clasp her hand, tugging her hand off me, and sever our connection. “I started the fight.”

Her eyes widen. “Youdid?”

I step away. Give her my back while I head for the trash can tucked away beneath my workstation. “The guy was dealing,” I grind out, hearing the telltale sound of Savannah’s heels tapping against the tile as she tails me. “I didn’t ask questions on how he got the stuff. Anyway”—I yank the can out, shaking it to get all the paper towels in before I tie the plastic drawstring—“he promised me coke. Didn’t deliver.”

“So, youjumpedhim?”

She sounds horrified. Rightfully so.

Feeling my spine go ramrod straight, I swallow, hard.Get it out there. Show her that you’re not who she thinks who are.“I was an addict, Sav. Addicts don’t think clearly. They’re only worried about their next fix.”

“I didn’t realize . . . yesterday, when we talked, I didn’t realize how bad it was before. You said that you spiraled but this is—”

“I used to be the good guy,” I say, cutting her off. I can feel her disappointment. It sits like an anvil on my chest, heavy, overwhelmingly oppressive. Or maybe that’s my own disappointment, my own disgust. No matter how many years that have passed since then, it feels like nothing I do will ever manage to wipe my slate clean. How many good deeds does it take to erase the shitty ones? Too many to count. And now with my history being bandied about in the tabloids . . .

My molars crack together as I clamp my jaw shut.

Savannah steps in front of me. Latches onto the plastic straps of the trash bag and pulls, hard. “Purge it out, Owen.”

My head snaps back in confusion. “What?”

With narrowed, determined eyes, she jabs a finger into my chest. “Purge.” Jab. “It.” Jab. “Out.” Jab.

I catch her finger before she can do any damage—to herself, not me. “I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

A tick kicks off in her jaw. “You told me yesterday that when you want to lose a memory, you get it inked on your body. So, let’s do it.”

“If you haven’t noticed, we’re the only ones here. And I’m not feeling up to going to another parlor after today’s shit show.”

Before I can even process what’s going on, Savannah is unbuttoning her shirt, leaving her in only a bra.

I spring into motion.

“What the hellare you doing?” I bark, grabbing the fabric before it flutters to the floor and shoving it at her. With irritation pumping through my veins, I stride for the front door. Flick the lock. Drag down the shades over the windows. “We’re not doing this right now. Put your shirt back on.”

But when I turn back around, it’s only to find Savannah seated on one of my cushioned tables. The smile she tosses my way is all female satisfaction, like she’s cornered me exactly where she wants me.

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